Fleet Street
by Veritas-amore
Summary: When struggling for an article that will further his career at The Prophet, Draco unexpectedly finds it in Hermione's distress. He just hasn't bargained on finding more than article in his former classmate.


**Title:** Fleet Street

**Author:** Veritas-amore

**Pairing:** Dramione

**Warnings:** Adultery, implied sex scenes.

**Disclaimer:** If I did own Harry Potter, I wouldn't need to write down fanfiction. Duh!

"Is this the best you've got?" Jack asked Draco sceptically, his eyes taking in the article before him with something akin to disdain. "Another goblin strike at Gringotts?"

Draco scowled and collapsed into the chair before Jack's desk, heaving a large sigh as he did so. "Would you rather have me write an article on Gilderoy Lockhart's latest jargon of a book?" he snapped. "God, I miss the days where he was still cuckoo at St Mungo's."

Jack pulled off his glasses and ran his hands through his greying hair; being the senior editor at The Daily Prophet was becoming harder by the day, with little refined news to actually hold his readers' attentions. Draco's latest article –yet another goblin strike (he could swear the boy was obsessed with goblins) – was well-written, if slightly passé. He simply couldn't have it as a front page headline, thinking repentantly of the sales.

"I'm going to take Rebecca's story," he told Draco, who immediately stiffened and bolted upright, glaring at Jack.

"She writes like a ten year-old armed with a thesaurus," he said scathingly. "And you shouldn't have given her the Minister's corruption allegations to cover; she won't do it justice."

"And you will?" Jack asked mildly, very much amused.

Draco smiled bitterly. "At least I won't have to sleep with his Junior Minister to get all the details."

A disapproving frown crossed Jack's forehead. While it was true that Draco had classier means of getting all the correct and salacious facts, Rebecca West certainly did manage to get them too. Even if her methods were slightly more vulgar. "She's doing fine covering the story; I'm not giving it to you."

"Yet," Draco smirked before he sat back in his chair and sent Jack his ever serious gaze. "Do you know what sells, Jack? Sex."

The snort Jack gave was heavy with irony. "You think after almost three decades in the world of journalism I wouldn't have realized that?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "Sex does sell but unfortunately people have become more wary of the media and are careful not to allow such things to slip into our hands. But, in essential, yes, sex rakes in the galleons."

Draco remained silent, deep in thought and Jack caught onto the look behind his eyes.

"Are you thinking of unearthing me a story laden with sex?" he smirked.

"Possibly," Draco muttered pensively before he caught Jack's gaze full on. "If I get the story you're looking for you have to give me junior editor."

Tipping his head back, Jack roared with laughter. "You don't do anything for free, do you, Malfoy? Fine, you're on. Get me the story a month from now and if I like it, you're my junior editor."

"Excellent," Draco grinned wolfishly.

"But…"

"Must there be a but?"

"Yes, there must. I'm offering the same proposition to Rebecca, the one with the best story wins."

Draco took to glaring. It was something he did often when around Jack and Rebecca walked into their conversations uninvited. If he didn't know any better, he'd say Jack was sleeping with her but Jack was a happily married father of two with a grandchild on the way. Sure, Rebecca wouldn't mind sleeping with him if it would help her get a higher standing at the paper but Jack is as Jack does. And jack doesn't sleep with Rebecca.

"Scared of a little competition?" Jack taunted, raising a pipe to his lips as he noted Draco's venomous glower.

"Hardly, but we'll see who'll be sat up in the junior editor's office in four weeks won't we?" he said with dangerous composure before he stood up and made for the door. "Good day, Jack," he added without a further glance back and meandered his way through the floor to his office. Most of his colleagues were procrastinating, choosing to skive off in a number of different ways instead of looking for tomorrow's headlines.

Ignoring them and harbouring no real desire to join them, he slipped into his office and sat at the large leather chair behind his desk, taking in the room before him. It was slightly messy but he liked it just this way. One side of the room had been dedicated to a towering bookshelf, the other to a few filing cabinets and here and there, he'd stuck up some of his most memorable articles. Old copies of the Prophets were littered around the room and his desk was covered in parchment and assorted knick knacks.

He picked up his golden quill and twirled it lazily in his hand, his thoughts already straying to his promised story for Jack. Just what could he write about…?

Draco's thought were interrupted as he heard the soft clicking of heels against the floor of his office, and he looked up to find his least favourite person smiling indulgently at him. Rebecca West was as ruthless as she was beautiful. A twenty six year old brunette with misleading dark eyes and a talent for seducing men, she got her stories with little effort.

"Do you really think you can best me on a story about sex?" she asked in a honeyed, amused voice.

"Well, we can't all have lost our virginity at eleven but yes, the possibility of losing to you is a far fetched one," he smirked at her lethally, his eyes conveying his distaste at having her in his office. Usually he put a charm to keep her out but it seemed he'd forgotten today.

Rebecca's smile slipped off her face but she remained within his office, taking a seat on one of the chairs before his desk, carefully crossing her legs slowly. Draco stared at her bronzed legs, disgustedly wondering whether she'd bought her skirt from the children's section at whatever plebeian shop she frequented. She noticed the direction of his eyes and misread his expression for one of intrigue.

"Do my legs interest you so?" she breathed; her said legs rubbed against each other sensually and despite himself, Draco did it find slightly stimulating. He ignored that particular fickle part of his anatomy and raised frozen eyes to hold her gaze.

"No. I just wondered whether you'd mistaken your retailer for a children's one."

Rebecca flushed angrily and Draco leered triumphantly. She stalked out of his office without another word and he was just a little curious to see whether she wore knickers underneath that bloody pleated skirt. Normally, he'd have found it a very big turn on but this was Rebecca's daily uniform: the shortest skirt she could fit into and a tight corseted top. She pulled it off however, despite its kitsch.

Rebecca West was Draco's prevalent bane at the Prophet; she took all the good stories, stole his quills and had more sex than he did. He'd have bed her too if he hadn't come to see the vulgarity of the woman. Yes, it was attractive to be well presented daily but not to come to work halfway dressed as a tart, nor was it to brag about whom she'd had under her last night, especially since everyday there was a different person. He couldn't deny his glee that she had yet to shag him, despite knowing that he'd been atop her list for a very long time and it made him smirk to parade the fact that he couldn't stand her nor did her ever plan of sleeping with her.

Grabbing his cloak, Draco left the offices in search of some lunch, pondering briefly if he could write an exposé of how the Junior Minister had slept with Rebecca when the wizarding community knew full well his wife was expecting their first child. It would've been nice to write something so burdened with hate and malice but he knew he could do far better than Rebecca West.

Draco ran his hand through his hair with frustration. Ten days, ten fucking goddamn days had passed already and he was as close to writing his story as Hagrid was to becoming a civilised woman. Was there no ardent, scandalous sex between the hoity-toity figures of high society nowadays? He'd searched every nook and cranny of the upper crust but everyone seemed content with monogamy. What was the world coming to where a single shameful affair could not be found in the tabloids?

Rebecca had already insinuated she'd found her story but Draco was hard pressed to believe her… unless of course, she was going to write about her depraved nocturnal activities. Downing the last of his beer, he paid for the drink and left the pub intent on getting home and calling it an early night. He'd just pushed through the door when he felt a soft body collide into his and his eyes had no difficulty taking in the person, despite the red eyes and nose.

"Mrs Minister," he greeted smoothly and inclined his head in mock respect.

Hermione just stared at him briefly before she made to push past him into the pub but he caught her arm and turned her back round, unable to believe this chance meeting. "Whilst it's true that this maybe a muggle pub, it's not far from The Leaky Cauldron and many wizards do frequent it. I suspect you're looking for something strong to down but it isn't prudent to drink here, being who you are."

She observed him with glassy eyes for a while before she sighed. "Would you like to point me in the direction of somewhere a little more private?" she asked. Her voice was hoarse, he realized and blamed it on the blatant fact that she'd been crying.

His curiosity highly piqued, Draco contemplated her for the briefest moment before he grabbed her hand and disapparated. It was testament to how distraught she was that she didn't fight him. Feeling the pressure of the apparation wear off, his feet found solid ground and he turned round to see Hermione taking in her luxurious surroundings inquisitively. He'd taken her to his house naturally and she couldn't truthfully say she was that surprised.

"Are we in Wiltshire?" she said quietly as she moved to sit on a handsome armchair beside the fire, shrugging out of her coat, lighting a fire in the grate and illuminating the room with her wand.

"No," he answered as he moved to the drinks cabinet. "We're in Cambridge… I've got Scotch Firewhisky, vodka and gin. What would you like?"

"Scotch," she answered in a weary voice and he pulled out a decanter halfway full with amber liquid and two tumblers before he moved to sit next to her in a neighbouring armchair. Hermione took his proffered tumbler and watched as he poured a generous amount of the liquid, before she raised it to her lips and drank deeply, disregarding the burning of her throat as the Firewhisky slid down.

She watched with silent curiosity over the top of her tumbler as he drank his Scotch in silence, also contemplating her.

"So, why Cambridge?" she asked after a few more moments in silence.

Draco's lips lifted into a wry smile. "Nice, quiet city with lovely scenery; why not Cambridge? You… why a muggle pub at," he checked his watch with a hasty glance at his wrist, "eight twenty seven on a Monday?"

He watched her features crumple a little, her eyes glazing over before she regained herself and answered a little stiffly. "It's a Monday."

Laughter bubbled out of his mouth into a near snort. "I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want. You; why a muggle pub as a haunt?"

"Escapism mostly." Draco paused lightly, sipping on his drink briefly as Hermione did the same before he asked with utmost candour. "Why were you crying?"

I wasn't-" she began to deny vehemently but he cut across her.

"I've had enough crying chicks on me to notice the symptoms, Granger. Don't humour me. Why were you crying?"

Hermione stared at him hardly for a long time before her shoulders sagged and she leaned against the back of the chair, her eyes closing. "I don't trust you," she muttered quietly, "but I just have to tell _someone_. Why was I crying, you ask? Let me tell you."

Draco sensed something very satisfying coming on and set his Scotch aside but refilled Hermione's tumbler. The more she drank, the more she'd divulge. He didn't feel the least bit guilty that he was getting her drunk to coax information out of her. Rebecca probably got her stories whilst her interviewees were orgasming… clearing his thoughts, he focused solely on Hermione.

"My husband has loved me for a long time, perhaps too long a time… I don't know. And I too have loved him for as much as I can remember, also perhaps I have loved him too much, but of course you know this, don't you Malfoy? Well, either way, we're the kind of people who got married on the basis of love at a young age. We were willing to risk everything for each other but lately I've come to realize that perhaps that particular attribute in our relationship only applied to me. "

"After the war, we rose through the ranks of the ministry together and even though I was not vain enough to contemplate it earlier, I'll tell you this now truthfully; my husband only got to where he is because of me. It was me who ordered an elevation for him every time I was raised to a job better than his, it was me who spoke to every connection I had at the ministry in order for him to keep his posts despite his lacklustre work and it was me who made him Minister. Ronald Weasley's ego is fragile and he loathed how I was always the one to be promoted, the one who had a better standing at the department than he did. I realized this of course and out of my love for him ordered his own promotions. A few years went by and I was poised to become the head of Magical Law Enforcement Department. Naturally, Ron resented the fact that he would have to work underneath his wife and setting aside my dreams, I allowed him to take the post I wanted in order to keep our relationship healthy and functional. Shouldn't I have realized from the beginning that it was not functional to begin with?"

Draco sat on the edge of his seat on tenterhooks, riveted by Hermione's words. He'd never found her so intriguing; head back against the armchair, eyes closed, Scotch frequently rising to her lips and overtaken with the emotion of her words. Silently, he urged her on.

"Well, everybody knows that Ron became head of the department but I was the one who did my own job and assessed his every move before he made it in his own. I began to work late because of this, staying behind at the ministry whilst my husband claimed to have gone home. Do I suspect that he'd cheated on me then? No, not really. We were growing apart but he'd still clung onto some of his love for me. More years went by and it was me who was offered to become Minister. Me, who could change history and become the first female Minister… how stupid of me to think I could become Minister whilst my husband proudly applauded. Hardly. The stigma of having a wife who was more socially and politically powerful was too much for Ron to handle and he pleaded with me to give up my offer to him. I still loved him and it was that love that made me ignore my heart's desire and agree to allow him to take my offer as I remained at my job. He became Minister, the youngest ever Minister; whilst I sat behind a desk making sure no underage wizards broke the Statute of Secrecy."

Hermione paused and raised her tumbler to her lips only to find it empty. She opened her eyes and held it out for Draco who poured her another generous amount. After a long sip, she continued, her eyes firmly on his.

"My job was long and hard and his demanded that he trekked around the world, every few weeks or so in some country or another. I didn't accompany him on most of his trips and he didn't offer me the opportunity much anyway. During this period I noticed how distant we'd become, how detached our conversations had become, how…" she broke off as her voice cracked slightly but Draco watched as she gathered herself and resumed in a hard voice. ".. how sex had become something of a myth between us. Tonight, I was at my parents' for dinner and I was due to spend the entire evening with them, not coming home until near midnight, but I was tired and simply wanted to greet my husband and go to sleep. I left and apparated to our home, making for the bedroom but the door was creaked and I managed to see what was going on… for the first time, I saw the truth of what had become of our relationship. Ron was sleeping with his _young_, _blonde_ undersecretary in _my_ bed and in _my_ house. I disapparated before they could notice me and then… then I bumped into you," she finished and Draco was painfully aware of the fact that she had tears glistening near the ends of her eyes. Pity sizzled in his stomach at her situation but a very big part of him was celebrating in jubilation; he'd found his story.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled earnestly, unsure of how to react towards her and this revelation. He pitied Hermione Granger whom had just discovered her husband cheating on her and had just given him his sought-after story. The same Hermione Granger who was now sat before his fire with a very bitter expression on her familiar features.

"Don't be," she snorted dryly and swiped angrily at her tears. "At least this way I know I won't have to waste anymore of my life on him."

"You're going to file for divorce? Without attempting to resolve the problem?"

"What is there to resolve? Do you expect me to forgive him for everything he's done? For the affair, for making me give up my dreams? Harry always did tell me I was too forgiving for my own good."

"You _are_ too forgiving for your own good," Draco agreed with a trace of laughter in his voice. "You forgave me for everything I did at Hogwarts and during the war, didn't you? But what's to say that right now I couldn't do something horrible to you and you'd forgive me after a few months?"

Hermione actually snorted at him and seemed almost amused. "You wouldn't do it, Malfoy; if you decide to do anything of that nature to _me_ then you'd be running the risk of Azkaban. And I hear you don't like Azkaban."

She knew him too well. Then again, he'd always deduced that this woman knew everyone too well. Apart from her husband it would seem.

"True; I do value my own hide too much to get myself another Azkaban sentence." he shrugged. "This still begs the question however; what will you do to get back at Weasley?"

By her rapidly blinking eyes, Hermione didn't comprehend his question. "What?"

Undoubtedly all Gryffindors didn't grasp vengeance, even the really brainy, _still _slightly bushy haired ones. "Revenge, Granger. I'm talking about revenge," he rolled his eyes. "What will you do to avenge yourself on Weasley?"

"Revenge?" Hermione repeated as if the word was utterly foreign to her. "I don't want revenge. I just want a divorce."

For fuck's sake, how sanctimonious could one person get? "So you don't want to see him suffer for nicking your dreams right from underneath your nose? You don't want to see him pay for servicing someone other than you with his dick? What's divorce going to do if, as you say, he's lost most of his love for you? You'd be doing him a favour, actually." Draco had no idea why he was saying these things, why he was spurring Granger on starting a vendetta against Weasley and why on earth he was exceedingly drawn to the sight of Granger sipping Scotch whilst bathed in firelight.

"So you think I should get even with him? I'd be stooping to his level and more importantly playing right in to your slimy Slytherin trick, so no thank you," she said tartly and he smirked. Merlin, she was just like he remembered.

"Do you believe in karma, Granger?" he suddenly asked.

"Yes," she said warily and sipped on her drink.

"Good, because here's one thing to remember about it; the whole concept of karma feeds on people's inborn desire for retribution. Yes, you do get a few weirdoes devoid of that characteristic but count them up in the world and their number wouldn't reach a hundred. Without this need, this hunger for comeuppance, then karma's just another piece of shit that only a small minority in some far flung corner of the world believe in and you'd have evil delinquents roaming the country not going to pay for their ungodly actions and good people, no matter what saintly act they do, are just going to be keep trodden on. And here's the thing, Granger; you're not one of those one hundred weirdoes."

Hermione's eyes were wide, her mouth slightly agape before she sputtered. "That's…that's just… I would never…"

"Yes you would," Draco replied simply, enjoying the effect of his words far too much. "In sixth year, you stooped to going out with McLaggen just to spite Weasley for dating that Brown girl. If you could do it when you were sixteen, what's to say you can't do it again? You're not that different from what you were back then."

Hermione processed his words in slowly still unable to believe that she was having such a conversation with Draco Malfoy. When her head finally got around his words, she realized with a shock so great that he was correct. Every single word to have dropped out of his mouth was true. His lips curled into a very complacent smirk as he took in her stunned features.

"Not the only who's got a bit philosophy in you, Granger," he commented dryly. "But this takes us back to square one; how are you going to get back at Weasley? From where I'm standing, it's pretty clear."

"Of course it's clear, you nimrod," she rolled her eyes and set down her almost empty tumbler and Draco forced back a laugh. "I have to sleep with someone."

"Preferably someone Weasley hates to the very core," Draco supplied helpfully.

"That's right," Hermione said sombrely. "So who better than you?"

"_What?_"

Draco was aghast. That had never been his intention from his little pep talk… surely, she didn't… and he would be… and they'd have… what the hell had she just proposed?

"I'm going to sleep with you for revenge because Ron absolutely loathes you, even to this day."

"And you're willing enough to jump into bed with me?" he said, his voice dripping heavily with sarcasm.

"You're certainly not my first choice," she said with a slight note of derision that didn't go past his notice. "But we're both here now, you house obviously holds some lovely bed or another, you're single to the best of my knowledge and you have become less annoying since our school days, if marginally."

"So you're going to sleep with me and hop off in the morning to tell Weasley that you'd been in my bed and by midnight I'd be a murdered man?" he sneered.

"Why would he have you murdered if you'd slept with me when he's already stopped loving me?" Hermione said quietly and Draco didn't put up anymore objections, watching her as she ran a hand through her caramel curls before she fixed resolute eyes on him.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" he asked hoarsely as she stood up and approached him until she was stood before him, her knees lightly touching his.

"No, but that's never stopped me before, has it?" she breathed and sat down on his lap and in one swift movement, had her arms about his neck and was pressing her lips against his firmly.

Draco couldn't restrain the moan that escaped his lips as he kissed her back fiercely, one hand snaking about her waist to keep her in place and the other resting on her thighs. Her lips were so sweet and smooth and doused with the taste of Firewhiskey as he kissed her greedily, prying for every flavour, for every reaction. The hand on her waist travelled underneath her silky cream blouse and ascended slowly up her back in feather light steps as she moaned against his mouth and deepened the kiss, her tongue meeting his in an eager salute.

Hermione's hand dropped from his hair to his shirt where her fingers began to deftly undo the buttons, his need escalating with every passing second. He trailed his lips from her mouth across her jaw to her ear where he licked teasingly at her lobe before descending to devour the smooth column of her neck, finding her pulse within mere heartbeats and pressing sucking kisses to the exact spot he felt her blood pounding furiously in.

When Hermione had succeeded in shucking him of his shirt, her mouth moved towards his chest as she pressed kisses to his warm skin ranging from painfully delicate to hard, wet suckling kisses. His pectoral muscles hardened in the wake of her roaming fingers and he forced her head back up to capture her lips in a hard, demanding kiss, his fingers biting into her waist as she whimpered wantonly against him and writhed on his lap intimately. Merlin that made him feel like he was seventeen again!

Pulling back, Draco stared at her deeply as he fought to regain his breath back, watching her chest heave as she too, caught her breath. His hands were still underneath her blouse, resting firmly on the sultry skin of her abdomen as her own hands held tightly onto his shoulders.

"Do you want to go the bedroom?" she asked huskily, almost shyly after a moment. Draco detected the smallest hint of a blush on her cheeks. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a woman blush; it made her just that much more endearing. "I'm getting a bit sore here."

Draco mutely nodded and she got off him, pulling him up by the hand and allowing him to lead her quietly through the house, up the elaborate staircase towards a slightly ajar door, the softest of golden light emanating faintly through it. He pushed it open and had barely pulled her in before she'd thrown him against the wall and was pressing herself against him in the most delicious way, her lips finding his right nipple and biting down lightly causing him to curse quietly under his breath in pleasure.

Her tongue reached out to lick across his skin and once again, he pulled her back up and imprinted a kiss on her lips before he whispered, "I think we should get rid of that blouse."

Hermione smiled a little smugly before she crossed her arms before her, taking a hold of the end of the blouse and lifting it smoothly over her head. She tossed it carelessly behind her as Draco stared at milky skin of her torso, his eyes resting on her breasts within a very elegant black lace bra.

"Anything else you want to get rid of?" she asked sweetly in his ear, once more moulding her body into his and making sure her chest touched his liberally.

She was wearing tailored, black trousers. He didn't like women to wear trousers if he planned on sleeping with them and Hermione was no exception. The trousers would have to go…

As she nuzzled his neck and ran her hands through his hair, his fingers travelled to the fly at the front of her trousers and within two seconds, the trousers had pooled about her feet. Not breaking off her kissing, she carefully stepped outside of them and kicked them away. He glanced at her knickers and smirked to see matching black lace.

"Are we happy now?" Hermione breathed and he nodded before tactfully spinning them so she was pressed against the wall and lifting her up as she wrapped her legs around his waist. His body was suffused with pleasure at the mere suggestion and his lips greedily devoured hers as his fingers traced delicate patterns on the back of her thighs, consciously aware of how close he was to her knickers.

Hermione moaned wantonly into his mouth and bucked against him impatiently. "Please," she whispered with a desperate request behind her lust-fogged eyes.

Draco didn't oblige her and claimed her lips once more, his tongue lashing out to meet hers, to tease sadistically as his lips dropped from her mouth to her jaw, down to her shoulders where he nipped at the skin below the strap of her bra and even further south until he was nibbling on the mouth wateringly soft skin of her breast. His fingers meanwhile, had never deserted their position but approached the line of her panties with every second until…

Hermione arched into him with a satisfied moan as his fingers slipped underneath the fabric of her knickers and came to rest exactly where she wanted them to be. She let out an elicited moan of his name and dug her fingers into his shoulders as the pleasure began to mount but just before she was swept up in the absolute bliss that his fingers were inducing, he'd slipped them away and pulled back to smirk mischievously at her.

"I like to tease," he informed her. "Surely you must've realized that."

She was glaring at him through her laboured breathing, thoroughly put out that he'd denied her that little taste of ecstasy. "Tease me now and I'll tease you later," she threatened with a hiss before she bit into his shoulder. "Just for tonight, don't tease. Please," she implored gently, her lips daintily soothing the place she had bit him with a warm kiss.

"Just for tonight," he promised quietly and allowed his fingers to resume what they had started.

"Something about you is screaming _disgustingly good mood_," Jack noted as Draco fell into the chair opposing his desk. "Does this mean you've found your story or was the girl in your bed last night really that good?"

Draco smirked happily but then failed to hide a yawn behind his hand. He'd woken up after a few meagre hours of sleep to find Hermione gone –he wasn't totally surprised- and himself late for work. Briefly, he'd mourned being denied his premeditated breakfast of Hermione Granger and then had jumped into his robes and apparated to the Prophet offices. He was barely able to walk straight, had deep purple shadows beneath his eyes and wished for a few more hours of sleep but Jack was, in essence, absolutely correct. He was in a revoltingly agreeable mood.

"You wouldn't believe me even if I did tell you who was in my bed last night," he pointed out.

"Which means it was either a man or Rebecca," Jack concluded with a smirk.

Draco snorted. It was good thing he liked Jack otherwise the old loon would've had Draco's fist in his face by now. "I've found my story; I just need to do a little research. You'll have a front-page story within a few days, Jack."

"Am I going to like it?"

Draco smiled a slow indulgent smile as he stood up. "You'd kill for it."

**A/N:** I usually have most of my stories finished when I start posting, but this is different. This is as far as I've written (okay, maybe there's just a few more hundred words on my laptop) but I have no intention of completing it unless there's a high demand for its continuation. This is the only novel length story I am writing at the moment, and if no one's going to read then I don't want to waste time I could be revising in spent writing this. Let me know what you think and we'll see what happens. And for those of you that don't know, Fleet Street is a word used to describe the press.


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